


everybody's after love

by goodmorningbeloved



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: An Origins Story (But For Bad Decisions), Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10021901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningbeloved/pseuds/goodmorningbeloved
Summary: An elaboration of how Sam and Rafe came to not-date.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) this is part of the fake dating au on tumblr, the links to which can be found on the collection's page.  
> 2) this is an edited crosspost from tumblr (i posted the original under @ughrafe), so if this looks familiar, you've probably already read it there!!  
> 3) this work precedes [Entreé](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/notcompletelyfake/works/9923663).  
> 4) title's from counting crows's "accidentally in love," ironically...for now. :>

Rafe comes to him one night smelling faintly of alcohol but carrying the air of outmost determination, demanding, “I need you to date me,” and Sam stops in the middle of pouring himself a glass of whiskey to start pouring one for Rafe instead, because it’s apparently going to be one of _those_ nights.

“Great, yeah, run that by me again,” he says, proffering the glass, and Rafe glares at it before taking it anyway.

“I said, I need you to date me. Temporarily.” Rafe looks pained at each word that’s coming out of his mouth. His fingers twitch around the glass.

“You _actually_ never fail to astound me, you know that,” Sam says plainly. “I see your party went well. How drunk are you?”

“Had about half a glass of scotch before I had to leave or I would have punched something,” Rafe grumbles. “So, not drunk enough. Will you do it?”

Sam snorts because that’s very typical of Rafe—punch out or punch _something_ out. “Are you gonna you tell me why?”

And Rafe sighs like the most unfortunate circumstances have woefully befallen him. Then he makes himself at home on Sam’s couch.

Sam’s apartment is nothing extravagant, and certainly nothing in comparison to Rafe’s sprawling penthouse, but Rafe never has a problem with the difference whenever he’s coming over to rant about his parents’ latest misdeeds.

It’s become a byproduct of their more formal arrangement—Rafe occasionally commissions him to look into less-than-legal artifacts, Sam does the job, Rafe pays him, and Sam doesn’t have to resort to riskier clients to make a living.

Nights like _this_ are relatively new, but Sam’s not so bothered by it. It’s amusing to see Rafe — normally proper, collected _Rafe Adler_ — on his couch, hair askew and clothes ruffled, so openly affected. Besides, Rafe started overpaying him around the same time he started coming over for these _get-togethers_ , and Sam figures if that’s all it takes to earn a little extra, he’ll gladly be an emotional soundboard for a few hours a week.

But this night in particular is _completely_ new.

On the couch, Rafe has launched into a dynamic and probably slightly exaggerated account of the party’s events. It’s pretty easy to hear the heat in his voice, even when Sam’s still sitting on the other side of the room.

Sam has never interacted with any of the Adlers besides Rafe, but he sees enough of them in the news to get a sense of their personalities. Rafe’s parents don't sound anything too terrible—they both seem stringent but his impression is that they let Rafe get away with most things as long as they don't impugn the family name. Sam figures there are other issues lurking underneath — he doesn’t ask, just like Rafe doesn’t ask about the finer details of _his_ life — but sometimes he thinks _he_ wouldn’t mind having two parents around. At least they would still be _around_ to care too much instead of not around at all.

But Rafe looks particularly moody that night, and Sam doesn’t feel like being at the brunt of his anger, so he doesn’t voice his opinion. He lets Rafe go on about _still constantly trying to control me_ and _won’t stop meddling_ and _it’s none of their business_ , until he finally pauses to take a breath. That’s when Sam gets up, walks over to the back of the couch, and takes a pointed sip from his glass.

Rafe stares back at him, never one to back down, and drinks from his own glass. “Thanks,” he says dryly. “The light was hurting my eyes.”

Sam shifts one step to the right, smiles lazily when Rafe scowls and raises a hand to shield his face, and points out, “None of that actually answered my question.”

Rafe cracks his fingers open to peer at him—honestly, he can be so _dramatic_ sometimes. “Long story short,” he begins somberly, “my parents have been _harping_ about what a _travesty_ it is that I, at the _ripe —_ Christ, _gag_ me — age of twenty-four, have yet to be involved in any relationships.” He sits up none too carefully, and Sam almost takes the glass from him because he just cleaned this couch last week and he doesn’t feel like cleaning it again. “My mother was ready to set me up with someone right goddamn there, so I _said._ ” Rafe tosses back the rest of his glass rather impressively, though Sam’s still mostly hung up on the fact that Rafe actually said _gag me_. “I said that I was already, in fact, seeing someone.”

“But you’re not?” Sam says, mostly just to hear Rafe verbally confirm the depth of his self-dug grave.

“I’m not,” Rafe says grimly. “But they expect me to bring this someone to the banquet next Friday, so I need you to do this for me.” He sighs again, looking regretful that his glass is empty...and looking at anywhere but Sam. “It’s just for one night." 

Sam takes a moment to process this. "You need  _me_ to show up with you."

"Yes."

"You need _me_ to be the  _someone_ that you're seeing."

"Christ, Sam,  _yes_."

Sam feels vaguely indecent at this proposition, but he can’t deny that the offer is tempting—in exchange for, what, showing up at some fancy dinner party and smiling and standing close to Rafe? Pissing off some snobs in the process? It's not quite a gift horse, but he's having trouble coming up with any real cons. “Give me double,” he says, all business, “and I’ll gladly do it.”

“What, the free food and one night in the spotlight isn't tempting enough?” Rafe says, rolling his eyes. “Double, then. I’ll pay you half up front and the other half after this goddamn nightmare is over.”

Sam can’t help but laugh, even as Rafe glares at him for it. “Deal.” He holds his hand out for a shake.

“Good.” Rafe takes the time to get up, walk around the couch, and _then_ shake his hand. That’s typical of him too. “Do you have any more of this?” With his other hand, he raises his empty glass.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says easily, letting go of Rafe’s warm hand to gesture him back to the table. “I’ll even refill it free of charge, since I’m so flattered that you came to _me_.”  _What did I just agree to?_ he thinks faintly, and not about agreeing to refill Rafe's cup. 

“Don’t be,” Rafe scoffs, starting after him. “I just figured you’re the person I’m least likely to kill.”

It probably says something about the size of Rafe’s inner friendship circle that _Sam_ is the first person he came to, but Sam decides not to comment on it as he pours Rafe another glass. Instead, he says with a shit-eating grin, “Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?” He looks at Rafe, a little disheveled but still wearing clothes that are probably more expensive than all of the furniture in Sam's apartment, and wonders how anyone could possibly buy into the idea of them being together. But hey, that's not his problem, right? He just needs to show up for one night. Hell, maybe Rafe even  _wants_ him to play up their differences, if he's looking to piss people off.

Rafe smiles back, sweet. “Just because you’re the person I’m least likely to kill doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Sam laughs and tips their glasses together to commemorate the happy arrangement. “Cheers.”

What could go wrong?


End file.
